The Righteous Man
by ifan13
Summary: AU: Castiel Novak is an FBI agent who has just been given the biggest case of his career - that of the unidentified serial killer, The Hunter. Dean Winchester is the most elusive, skilled, ruthless killer America has ever seen, one who has left not one shred of evidence behind him. Castiel has never failed to get his man. When fed goes up against killer, who will win? (killer!Dean)
1. Prologue

**A/N: **I know, I'm starting another story, I'm a bad person, etc. But I really wanted to write this and couldn't get it out of my head. I plan to update once a week. Warning: This entire fic will include language, intense violence and gore, dark themes, and psychopathic characters. It's _meant _to be creepy. So, if you don't like that kind of thing, stay clear!

**Disclaimer: **For once in my life, I actually kind of do own this. I mean, it's AU, so the story is mine, the backgrounds of the characters are mine, and, heck, even the characters really are mine, because they're completely OOC. This is AU, after all. However, the names and starting characters do belong to Supernatural not me. Think of it this way - Dean Winchester belongs to Supernatural, but this Dean Winchester is mine because I took theirs and twisted it to make something new. Anyway ... you know what I mean.

**The Righteous Man**

**_Prologue_**

It was a beautiful night. The stars were sparkling in the dark, blue tinged sky, the air was crisp, cool, and alight with fireflies, and the only sounds that could be heard came from the crickets in the grass. It was the kind of night that sends painters running for their canvases, writers for their pens and papers, and musicians for their instruments. It was the kind of night for which artists live, one where you can practically see the inspiration sparking off every moonbeam and drop of dew on the grass – where beauty permeates every inch of creation.

The man who stood at the bottom of a grassy hill in the midst of this scenery was no stranger to this beauty. In fact, he appreciated it deeply. Indeed, he felt inspired by the same sights, sounds, and smells that the writers and painters captured in their work. He endeavored, in his humble way, to do the same thing.

A girl lay on the ground at the foot of the hill and was so sublimely lovely that she added to the beauty of the night. Blessed with a straight, little nose, full, pouting lips, a translucent complexion, and large, expressive hazel eyes, this girl had a face that had broken many hearts. Those days, however, were over, and she would never break another. Those lips would never smile again and those eyes would never sparkle but instead, would be perpetually locked in that dull, lifeless state. After all, when the body is dead, the soul cannot live on through the eyes.

The man smiled at her almost fondly and then looked over at the man who lay next to her. As handsome as she was beautiful, they seemed the perfect couple. And now, they would be together forever in death. The man's name was Jack and the girl's, Jill. Their friends had always laughed at this – and teased them about the nursery rhyme.

_Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water._

Now, they lay in a crumpled, broken heap at the bottom of a hill, practically every bone in their bodies broken. The only things that remained unblemished were their faces, which held identical looks of horror.

_Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after._

Sure enough, lying by Jack's broken hand and Jill's golden locks was a plastic gold crown, wet with the dew. The smiling man stared at it for a moment and then stomped on it with his boot, smashing it with a loud crack. It was the final touch, that broken crown, to an hours long work - a work that had begun with the quick subduing of Jack and Jill, a couple on a stargazing expedition, with simple blows to the head. After that, Jack had been tied up and sat down against a tree so that when he woke up, he would have the front row seat to view Act I of this masterpiece. Upon the revival of both Jack and Jill, the man had quickly and methodically broken every bone in Jill's body by stomping, twisting, bending, and in some instances, squeezing the bones. The man smiled as he listened to Jack's shouts of horror and anger which grew louder as Jill's screams and pleas and whimpers grew quieter, ending finally, with the loud snap of her neck. Then it became Jack's turn and although he was more skilled in defending himself, he was no match for the man, who was a master. The man took the same amount of time and care with Jack that he did with Jill. Just because he had no audience did not mean that a sloppy job was acceptable. This was an art and he was the artist. And he would not accept mediocrity.

The job completed, all that was left was the gentle placement of the bodies and crown he had brought along at the bottom of the hill. The man surveyed his work one more time as he began to walk away, and he found it good.

It was the kind of night that inspired painters and writers and musicians. A night of creation. And that was what the man had participated in. He had created something he found beautiful – the horror on their faces, the deep red blood that seeped from the compound fractures, the dusty gold of the crown were all his part of his perfect creation and he was proud of it. He only wished he could see the reaction that his audience would have to it. Wished he could know the judgment of the critics. But, alas, that opportunity was denied to him.

After all, while he hated the crude sound of the words, he was a serial killer and it does not do well to be in the vicinity of law enforcement when that is one's trade.

The man reached his car and drove away, making his exit. Two beautifully dead bodies left behind and the open road in front of him – he was in his Impala and for Dean Winchester, all was right with the world.

**A/N: **Let me know what you thought! Review, favorite, and don't forget to follow, cause another chapter is coming up soon. In the next chapter, we meet Castiel, so ... stay tuned!


	2. The Avenging Angel

**A/N: **A little bit more than a week later but I was at the beach with no internet. Anyway, here it is! The next chapter of "The Righteous Man". And ladies and gentlmen, may I present ... _Castiel! _Warnings ... death and murders are discussed, as well as a serial killer.

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Supernatural nor Castiel nor any of the shows that I make vague and not so vague references to in this chapter.

**The Righteous Man**

**_Chapter One: The Avenging Angel_  
**

Castiel Novak was considered one of the FBI's best and brightest. He was the kind of man that could have risen speedily to the rank of a cushy desk job with silk suits and an actually decent salary. Silk suits – not the kind of thing you associate with the FBI … but if you get high enough- the FBI had a corporate elite like any other organization and Castiel could have become one of them. But each time he was up for promotion, he respectfully declined. He was where he really belonged, doing what he was meant to do. He was putting dirt bags in jail for the unspeakable things that they did. The desk job, the administrative politics – they weren't for him. He had a … higher purpose.

Castiel's parents had been brutally murdered on his 21st birthday. As it turned out, they were murdered by a serial killer that the FBI had been after for years. Unfortunately, after killing Castiel's parents, the killer had disappeared - vanished – and the FBI had never been able to bring the murderer to justice. Castiel realized the truth of that old adage – if you want things done right, you've got to do them yourself. It would be up to him to avenge his parents' murders. However, he wasn't an idiot and realized that he would have the best chance at finding the bastard if he was with the FBI instead of becoming some kind of renegade.

And so, Castiel Novak had joined the FBI and it quickly became obvious that he was something very special, having the highest closed case rate in the entire FBI. He soon gained a reputation for being some cross between a blood hound and a pit bull. He could follow any trail and he never let go. Yet, strangely enough, he maintained a kind of childlike naivety, often evidenced by a confused look on his face.

However, if you were dumb enough to allow that outward naivety to fool you, you would soon find out that Castiel Novak was not the kind of man it was a good idea to underestimate.

All of the FBI's hardest, most elusive, and despicable cases were handled to Castiel in the hopes that the blood hound would soon be able to put them to rest. So it was no surprise that they handed him what was being called the murder spree of the century. Over thirty different crime scenes spread all over the country, 59 victims, and no discernible MO other that a love for the theatrical, this case was every lawman's nightmare. It was also every American's nightmare because no race, sex, or age group was safe from the killer.

As soon as Castiel received the case, he began studying each and every murder, memorizing each detail, and trying to get into the unsub's head. When he felt like he had gotten a handle on it, he called his team together and briefed them.

"Meet the Hunter. That's what we're going to call our unsub because he goes after his victims with the precision and skill of a hunter. But not a hunter that shoots deer or hunts wild game. More like a bounty hunter or an assassin. He's killed 59 people in 27 different states and no two murders are alike. In Georgia, Dr. David Smith was stabbed 10 times with a screwdriver and left outside the police station. In Colorado, Janet Pond was murdered execution style, in a church. And in Virginia, Jack Harkness and Jill Kennedy were found with broken necks at the bottom of a kill in the country."

Adrian, one of Castiel's agents and also a personal friend, interrupted. "They don't sound like they're related at all. How did we connect them?"

Castiel nodded. It was a valid question. After all, 59 murders – that was a huge amount, an almost mythical amount. How could one person have committed them all without being in any danger of capture? "We didn't for a long time, which is why the unsub has been able to continue his ungodly killing spree without halting. Each murder is different, that's true. But they're all characterized by a couple of things. One, they're all very precise and methodical. The Hunter has military grade skills and executes each murder with control. David Smith was stabbed 10 times, which could indicate rage and passion. But he was stabbed in rows - each stab lined up and neat - and the scene was completely clean. No scrap of evidence was left behind. And when Dr. Smith was left at the police station, he was actually left sitting on a bench outside. Dozens of people walked by but no one noticed our unsub and he avoided the police station's cameras. Jack and Jill both had broken necks. But every single other bone in their bodies had been broken before death. Again, this sounds like over kill. But they were all broken by someone possessing a medical knowledge of human anatomy and equally medical precision. He took time to break each bone, methodically. Afterwards, he deposited them each carefully at the bottom of the hill and lay a broken crown beside them. This wasn't some fit. It was planned and executed almost brilliantly." Castiel paused and looked around expectantly, waiting for someone to notice the Hunter's second quality that was clearly at work here.

The faces of all his agents were completely blank. This was strange, because the Hunter had been referencing something in the murder and Castiel had thought it a very clear reference –one even he got. "Jack and Jill …" he hinted, waiting for someone to catch on. Fascinating. His agents were always making fun of him for not understanding references to "pop culture". Now the joke was finally on them.

"Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water." The faces began to change, realizing, finally, what Castiel was talking about. "Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after."

"He based their murders off a nursery rhyme?" Balt, their British liaison in the back of the room asked in an amazed voice.

Castiel nodded and explained his voice grave … as it always was. "I believe they were chosen simply because of the nursery rhyme. The Hunter's other characteristic is that he is extremely theatrical. Every single one of the murders was performed almost like a performance – almost like a show." His eyes intense, he continued, "So, we're going to start with those two marks – methodical and powerful like a hunter and theatrical like a performer. Using those marks, I want us to find his first murder because the first one we have on file can't be his first – it's too perfect, with no mistakes. He had to have … 'practiced' before then. And that first murder will hold the clue that leads us to him."

"Just one thing," A young agent named Anna raised her hand. Pushing her red hair back, she cocked her head and asked, "Why are we assuming the Hunter is male? Isn't it possible that our unsub is female?"

Castiel looked at her with some confusion. He'd thought that it had been obvious. Then he realized that his agents hadn't read and studied all the case files the way he had. He'd forgotten to include that.

He should have included that.

Blushing slightly with embarrassment, he explained. "Cassie Robinson was, as far as we can tell, his 13th victim. She was found in her bed, with a decorative dagger that she owned in her heart. She was naked because directly before her death, she had been having sexual intercourse with a man. The sex was consensual, it seems, as there was no sign of tearing or bruising. In fact, her face was still in ecstasy. Incidentally, the local police department received a ... 'strip-o-gram' later that night, inviting them to her apartment ... his idea of an 'anonymous' tip. No fluids or semen were found that could have linked us to the murderer. But in the elevator of her apartment building, the Hunter allowed himself to be caught on camera. The footage was time stamped slightly before her time of death, and he was the only person to enter the building during the window of opportunity that the killer would have had. The Hunter, therefore, was the man on camera."

Anna pushed harder. "You say he 'allowed' himself to be caught on camera. Why do you say 'allow'? Wasn't that a mistake? Don't we have a description of him now?"

If he had a description, wouldn't he had told them? "He kept his back to the camera and stood hunched with bent knees, draped all over Cassie as they were … 'making out' in the elevator. This disguised his dimensions, so all we really know is that he was 'well built' and muscular, which could already be gleaned from the strength which he used to kill some of his victims. As they exited the elevator, he waved behind his back and then gave thumbs up to the camera. He knew exactly where it was. It was the only time he was caught on camera and still, he was playing with us." He ended softly and the agents dispersed quietly, realizing finally what they were up against.

Castiel Novak went back to his office and his desk. While his agents began looking at the cases, Castiel took a minute to think about the families. He knew what they were going through and he was going to bring this monster to justice – for them, for the families. If the families had seen the man fighting for them at that moment – his mouth determined and his eyes full of righteous fury, they might have been able to rest more easily.

You see, Castiel had a reputation among the agents at the FBI. Amazingly enough, he had also garnered a reputation amongst the families he helped. One inspired by his dedication, incorruptibility, swift hand, and just execution.

The Avenging Angel, they called him

And if you were able to look close enough into those bluer-than-blue eyes as he worked on the case, late into the night, you might fancy that you caught a glimpse of some angelic fire.

**A/N: **So there it was - the lengthy introduction. Sorry if it was a bit boring, but it had to be done. I had to give my characters a bit of background. Did you notice the references? If not, check out the names and certain characteristics of the victims. Don't forget to check out the agents as well. I swear, _SuperWhoLock _is everywhere.


	3. It's a Small World After All

**A/N: **Hey there! So, just wrote this today and a lot of the pieces of this story started to fall into place for me. I'm really starting to like this story - I hope y'all are too! Sorry about it being so late ... On the bright side, this is the longest chapter I've written yet!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of these characters or the FBI. However, this really strange and slightly creepy story is mine.

**The Righteous Man**

**_Chapter Two: It's a Small World After All_**

"Hey, sleepy head," Sam Winchester heard a sweet voice say somewhere in the distance. "It's time to get up! You're going to be late for work."

Sam groaned, sounding a bit like a caveman, and buried his head deeper into the pillows. He liked the way the voice sounded but it was being incredibly annoying and unsympathetic. He wanted to sleep. _Sleep_ - that was important stuff right there. But, unfortunately, the voice had grown a pair of arms and was now shaking him. "Come on! Dean showed up last night and he's making pancakes right now. You have got to get up, silly."

Dean - he sounded important. Sam supposed that he was supposed to be some kind of lure - a temptation great enough that Sam would not be able to resist getting up. Well, the treacherous voice was wrong. Not even pancakes and the mysteriously familiar "Dean" were a great enough temptation for this man.

"My stubborn sasquatch, get up!" the voice said again, insistently but with a bit of a laugh. The voice then apparently grew a wondrous mouth because it began to use it, starting at Sam's neck and kissing him in such a delicious way that Sam almost couldn't stand it anymore. He stirred. And then suddenly, Sam was wide awake and his mind began to come back to him. Turning over quickly, he was just in time to see his tormentor hop off the bed and run out of the room, a mischievous smile on her face. "Jess!" he yelled, laughing. "Get back here!" He needed to kiss her back - _now_.

Then he caught sight of the clock and yelped. Wow, he really _did_ need to get up. So, setting records for speed, he leapt out of bed and straight into his morning routine.

20 minutes later, the errant sasquatch skidded into the kitchen and tackled the man who was just then sliding a perfect pancake onto the plate at Sam's place at the table. "DEAN!" Sam shouted joyfully as he crashed into the man and began the brotherly contest of strength. Not to be out done, the Dean somehow managed to wriggle out of Sam's arms and quickly grabbed the 6'4" man in a headlock.

"That was so easy, little brother," Dean stated, letting Sam go after a second, "I'm embarrassed for you."

Sam laughed, too happy to be embarrassed as Dean claimed he should be. "Dean, what are you doing here?" he asked. "I haven't heard from you in ages."

It was a surprise for Sam that Dean was here. Sam had practically worshipped his older brother when they'd been younger. Together, they'd gotten into all kinds of scrapes - Dean's James Dean attitude involving them in adventures with fast cars, pool tables, and loose women. But on the serious side of things, they'd also fancied themselves amateur detectives, and had traipsed around after the mysterious, collecting evidence and amazingly enough, often finding the culprit. Now, years later, those youthful passions had led Sam to make a name for himself as one of the top prosecutors in Washington D.C. Dean, also apparently still influenced by the things the brothers had done as teenagers, was a bounty hunter - still going after the bad guys, but without the structure and restrictions actual law enforcement would have put on him. Practically partners in … justice, the brothers were still very close.

But Dean was a bit of a loner and spent most of his time traveling around the country in their dad's old '67 Impala, looking for the "bad guys" Sam eventually prosecuted. So while Sam wished he could see his brother more often, in reality, Dean rarely came around.

Dean shrugged, smiling. "Got tired of skeevy motels and thought it was about time I came round and harassed you again. And you can't tell me no because, one - Jess already said I could stay and, two - I made pancakes. Which you should eat. Now."

Reminded of both his growling stomach and the fact that he needed to leave, Sam quickly sat down and dug into Dean's delicious pancakes, right after grabbing his mischievous, trouble making Jess and kissing her deeply.

* * *

Sam made it into work on time, probably only because instead of driving himself to the train station and having to wait for the next train (he'd already missed his customary one), he let Dean drive. Normally, driving anywhere around rush hour was suicidal, but Dean managed to find the out of the way back roads no one took and, by always exceeding the speed limit by at least 20 mph, cut traveling time in half. It reminded Sam of their teenage years when in their hunts for justice, they had oxymoronically boosted cars to get a lift. Dean had driven a bit like a maniac then too.

Sam spent the morning working and anticipating being able to go back home - not exactly engrossed in his work. In fact, for some reason still tired, he was on the edge of sleep when his phone received a message and buzzed, shocking him back to the land of the living.

"Drinks at 3?" the message read. "Got a new case you're going to want to here about. - Cas"

Drinks with Cas? Anything to alleviate the boredom. Sam texted back in the affirmative and then turned back to his computer, determined. Sam loved his work, but as with any job, there were slow days and this was certainly one of them. However, if he was going to leave early today to go meet Cas, he needed to apply himself and actually get something done.

* * *

Castiel Novak was one of the FBI's best agents, who had solved some of the toughest cases in FBI history. Sam, one of the best lawyers in D.C., had worked on the legal side of several of these cases and had gotten to know the lead agent very well, eventually striking up a friendship with him. They often met to discuss cases, so that was nothing out of the ordinary. But the slight sense of urgency Sam had detected in Cas' message intrigued him and he knew that Cas' case was going to be something out of the ordinary.

"Hey, Cas!" Sam said as he walked up to the FBI agent and shook his hand. "Virgin?" he asked with a smile, nodding to the drink in front of Castiel. Whenever they went out for drinks (and whenever Cas went out for drinks period, he assumed), Sam got a beer (or if it had been a hard day, some kind of shot of hard liquor) and Cas got a virgin drink. He wasn't one for drinking alcohol - Sam didn't know why. He would assume that Cas was with AA or something except for the fact that Cas didn't seem like the type to have gotten himself into that kind of trouble in the first place.

Anyway, Cas nodded the affirmative with a small smile on his face and gripped Sam's hand tightly. "It is good to see you. I already ordered your favorite." He gestured to the beer on the table.

Sam brightened up even more at the sight and sat down to enjoy it. After a brief exchange in which they enquired after their respective healths, Cas told Sam about his case.

"… and so, after they figured that out, they put me in charge of the case. They have put a great deal of faith in me. But I won't be able to catch this monster before he takes another life - I require more information and we have no description of him other than he's tall and muscular."

Sam stared at him in horror for a second. Then, shaking his head, he took a swig of his beer. The man was a veritable monster and practically unstoppable, it sounded like. "With all this kind of stuff, I don't know how you _don't_ drink, Cas."

Castiel looked at him seriously. "It does not appear to me that intoxication would help anything as it would dull my senses and stagnate intelligent thought. However, as you seem to recommend it, if the case proves to be particularly difficult and depressing, I may give drunkenness a try."

Sam laughed out loud. "Cas, don't you ever change. Ever." Then he sobered. "But seriously, if I can help you at all, let me in on this. Please. This guy- he needs to be brought in. He's sounds about as bad as they come." His brow clouded as he thought about it and then brightened slightly as another thought occurred to him. "Maybe when you find out more about this guy, I'll send Dean out looking for him."

Cas' eyebrows snapped together. "Dean? Who's Dean?"

"Dean is my brother. He- well, he's a bounty hunter. He goes after these guys - and he's damn good at it." Cas' face showed a slight bit of disdain and disapproval at the mention of the words "bounty hunter" and Sam, noticing it, was quick to jump to his brother's defense. "No, he's not that kind. Really, he's as good as any of the agents on your team. He just doesn't do … suits. And rules."

Noting Sam's quick defense of his brother and his clear sincerity, the agent decided to keep his opinions about those who "worked for justice outside of the law" and simply nodded, relenting. "He sounds interesting."

"Interesting doesn't cover half of it. He's one of the reasons I do this job. And- actually, he's in town! Why listen to me talk- Here, let me run it by Jess, but if she's okay with it, why don't you join us for dinner this week. You can meet him!" Sam's face was animated as he told his good friend of what was, in his eyes, a heaven sent opportunity.

"Well, I-"

"Great! Let me- oh, man …" Sam grimaced at his watch and quickly stood up. "Look I've got to go, but I'll give you a call later after I talk to Jess. Okay?" He clapped his friend on the shoulder and then strode confidently out of the bar, completely oblivious of the admiring waitress who was trying to catch his eye and of the emotions he'd provoked in his friend.

Cas was left behind, apprehensive. He was good at his job. But socializing? Not so much. He had few friends and it was only they that he was comfortable with. Bounty-hunter-gunho-older brothers of friends? He was not looking forward to this meeting, especially since his initial snap judgement had been so unfavorable. Then again, Sam clearly was fond of this brother and Cas detected at least a hint of hero worship in Sam's demeanor. Perhaps this wouldn't be quite so bad after all.

* * *

That night at the dinner table, Sam shared the details (or at least the broad overview) of Cas' case with Dean and Jess. Jess was duly vocally horrified while Dean remained silent. But that wasn't surprising - Dean was always a bit closed lipped when it came to emotion. However, noticing Sam's understanding look, he nodded and said that the man sounded like he needed to be put down. Brightening up a bit, he added with a small smile, "If you ever need anyone to find him, you know who to call."

"Yeah, I told Cas." That reminded him … "Oh, Jess, you know Cas, right? Yeah, well, I was thinking he could come over for dinner the week while Dean's here. You know, they're really different, but I think they'd get along." He casted a side look over to Dean.

The older brother stood up quickly. "Okay, that's it. It was bad enough when you were throwing chicks at me, telling me I needed to find someone so I wouldn't be lonely. At least they were hot and I could have a little bit of fun. But now you're throwing dudes at me?! I'm going to bed and you two matchmakers can plot all you want to down here." With that, he stomped off dramatically, pausing only to throw his winning grin back at the couple, a smile that showed that he knew he was being ridiculous but, come on! He was joking! And he knew they could take it.

"No, Dean, that's not what-" Sam protested. "Oh, he's impossible!" he complained, while inwardly grinning. Like he would try to set Dean up with Cas. Or anybody, for that matter - Dean was a big enough "chick magnet" on his own.

Jess chuckled. "Pot calling the kettle black? A bit? You know, Winchesters have pretty much cornered the market on impossible, but I'm not sure I could honestly say that Dean's got you beat."

Not cool. Not cool. Sam had to teach Jess a lesson - something that he was a master at. So, of course, he started off with tickling and then a bit of instruction with the mouth. But Jess was so deliciously responsive, he could no longer be sure who was teaching whom …

Meanwhile, if Sam had thought of it, he wouldn't have been surprised to have found Dean upstairs, laughing. But if he had known the cause of Dean's unholy mirth, well-

Dean Winchester had a very healthy sense of irony and listening to his brother describe Dean's own escapades to him had tickled him. Then the promise of such a treat as the chance to meet the officer in charge of tracking his ass down and throw in his own promise to hunt himself and- oh, the irony of it all! If it hurt Dean to hear Sam describe him as a monster, he didn't show it. Sam didn't understand was all. Dean hunted down monsters all day. What he did- it was murder, sure. But it was something more - it was beautiful. Dean was able to see himself above the labels Sam gave him.

And so, Dean indulged himself and laughed and laughed and laughed.

**A/N:** Well, I hope y'all liked it! Let me know if you like the direction this is going in. Please review, review, REVIEW! They make me so happy and I'd definitely love to get some constructive criticism! Also, don't forget to follow to find out what happens next! Till next time.


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